Ruthless

by Gillian Archer

  I wasn’t exactly close, but I saw a flash of something white in a Baggie before the guy in the True Brothers vest swung around. Oh my god, were those drugs?

  And I found myself staring into the face of a total stranger. He might’ve had long hair like Zag, but his was stringy; he had to be fifteen years older, and his vest badge said “Preacher.”

  I immediately raised my hands, my cellphone still clutched in my left. “My mistake.”

  I then beat a hasty retreat. His name might’ve been Preacher but he sure as hell wasn’t doing anything godlike in the parking garage. I flew the twenty feet to my car even as I heard the distinct sound of booted footsteps following me. But it was hard to hear anything over the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears. My right hand dug frantically into my pocket, searching for my keys as my mom’s lecture played in my mind.

  “Always have your keys in your hand when you go to your car. Clench them in your hand and lace the keys through your fingers so the pointy ends are poking out. That way if anyone approaches you, you have a weapon at the ready. I saw it on Oprah.”

  I really wished I’d listened to her. The second the car door was open, I dove inside and locked it behind me. I tossed my purse and phone onto the passenger seat and turned the engine over. I didn’t reach for a seat belt, just shoved the car into reverse and I was gone. Even though I was in my car, I still heard the boot tread behind me from just seconds ago. Whoever that True Brother was, he didn’t look happy and he’d been just feet from me.

  This time a ticked-off biker didn’t fill me with happy, horny feelings. I was scared shitless and trembled the entire drive back to my house.

  Once I pulled up to my house, I grabbed my stuff and bolted for the front door. My hand shook as I tried to get the key inside the lock. It took me three tries before it finally slid in. Of course, I didn’t have a sexy biker to help me out this time.

  I dashed through the opened door and slammed it shut behind me. And double-locked it. I debated for a second whether I should push my entertainment center in front of the door, but I didn’t think my knees would stop shaking enough for me to try.

  Collapsing on the couch, I held my head in my hands and concentrated on breathing. In. And out. In. And out.

  Shit, shit, shit. What did I get myself involved in? They were drug dealers! And not the happy hippie kind of druggie bikers. Anything white and powdery in a Baggie had to be big-time trouble. Shit, shit, shit.

  My mind kept replaying the parking lot scene over and over. The big True Brother closest to me with his wild hair and mean eyes. The badge on his vest might’ve said Preacher, but he did not act like a choir boy. And the way he started to come at me…Fuck.

  That was it. I was done with bad boy bikers.

  I just wanted to curl up into a ball and forget this horrible day ever happened. But I had to wait until my Jell-O-y legs could hold me up again.

  My phone pinged again.

  I knew without even looking who was texting me again. I never did reply to Zag’s invite. And I couldn’t make my buzzing mind come up with anything to say beyond “Hell no.” The last thing I wanted was him coming over here to find out why not.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  I picked up my phone and ignored the blinking text. Instead my fingers flew across the screen until Nicole’s name came up on the contact list and I dialed.

  She picked up on the fifth ring. “Hey, Jess. We still on for tonight?”

  The sound of her cheerful voice when I was practically falling apart was ridiculous to me. I bit back my hysterical laughter as I struggled to find something to say.

  “Jess? You there?”

  My breath hitched. “Yeah, sorry. I’m here.”

  “What’s going on? You sound weird.”

  “I…uh, I don’t even know how to tell you. Can you come over?”

  “Yeah. Sure. I’ll be right there.”

  I ended the call without saying goodbye. I tried to shake off my mood by doing what I normally do after work—getting something to eat and changing. But nothing looked good in the fridge and my blouse ripped when I tried to change. Apparently my name tag was pinned through my jacket to my blouse underneath. Shit. That was thirty bucks down the drain. I’d have to buy another work-approved blouse.

  Work. Shit. I should’ve reported what I saw in the parking lot. My job might very well depend on it. People had been fired for a hell of a lot less.

  But if I called my boss and Preacher got caught, who would he come after? The chick in the Mother Lode uniform with her name tag all out there for everyone to see? Shit. He probably knew my name and where I worked. It wouldn’t take much to find out where I lived. All he had to do was ask his buddy Zag. Whose name I said in the parking lot.

  My skin broke out in cold sweats. I was so screwed.

  But someone pounding on my door jerked me from my pity spiral.

  I approached the door cautiously. Like it might jump at me. Shaking my head at my foolish thoughts, I looked through the peephole. But only after I searched and found Nicole staring back at the door did I reach for the locks.

  I pulled open the door and reached for her.

  “Hey, what’s—ack!” She broke off as I hauled her into the house.

  Then I heard the telltale rumble of a motorcycle engine. All the blood left my head, leaving me feeling woozy. I swayed into the doorjamb, and this time it was Nicole who gripped my shirt and pulled me into the house.

  “What is going on?”

  But I couldn’t answer her. All I could do was stare at the motorcycle pulling into the driveway. My mind raced. Was it Preacher? Did he figure out where I lived?

  I sagged when the rider took his helmet off and revealed the familiar and oh-so-sexy features of Zag. Until I remembered. The drugs. Preacher’s threatening glare. Him chasing me in the parking garage.

  With newfound resolve, I whirled around and slammed the door behind me.

  Nicole stared at me with huge eyes. “What the hell is going on?”

  I didn’t have time to answer her. The door behind me vibrated with Zag’s pounding fist. I spun back around and twisted the deadbolt home. The lock’s click was loud in the sudden silence. And telling.

  “What the hell, princess?” Even though he wasn’t yelling, I could hear him through the door all the same.

  “Jess?”

  I turned back to Nic. “They deal drugs. I saw one of his buddies in the parking garage of the Mother Lode. I had no idea.”

  Nicole sighed. “I got this.”

  Before I had time to ask her what she meant by that, Nic shoved me aside and opened the door.

  “Nic, no.”

  “Listen up. Jessica doesn’t want anything to do with you. She’s done. You forget where she lives or the fact that you two even met. We clear?”

  “What? Who the hell are you? Jess? Come out here!”

  I closed my eyes and sighed. If she’d left the door closed, we could’ve waited him out. I really doubted that he would’ve bashed the door down.

  Which made my closing it on him all the sillier.

  Knowing I’d have to face him eventually, I grabbed the doorknob and opened the door wider so he could see me hiding behind it.

  “You know I don’t have time for this shit. I don’t play games. You wanna see me, you know my number.” Zag’s disgust was plain to see. So was his impatience.

  As he turned to leave, I shouted at his back. “I’m done.”

  He just lifted one hand and fluttered his fingers.

  Like I wasn’t a loss at all. The bastard.

  I felt about three inches tall. Small, because I thought we had something, while he couldn’t care less. I had to make him see that I was better than him. And not the other way around.

  “I don’t do drug dealers!”

  Zag dropped his hand and froze. After a second he spun around and pinned me with the scariest expression I’d ever seen him use. “Come again?”

  I didn’t waver. “I don’t do dru
g dealers.”

  “That’s convenient because I don’t deal.”

  “Whatever. I saw your buddy in the parking garage today.”

  “Who?”

  I flinched at the bite in his tone, but he didn’t come closer so my bravado held me up. “One of your True Brother buddies. Preacher? He was at the Mother Lode with two other bikers with little white bags and bundles of cash. So don’t try to bullshit me.”

  Zag came at me. I flinched but he didn’t stop until his toes touched mine. “Who were the other two bikers? Did you see their tags? Or their vests?”

  “What? No.” I shook as his nearness affected me. That wonderful musk that I’d associate with Zag probably forever. Leather, man, and mint. Dammit, why did he have to smell so good?

  He cupped my chin in his hand and tilted my face up to his. “This is important, princess. Did you see who the other men were?”

  I looked into his golden-brown eyes and despite my resolve, I melted a little. “They were bikers like Preacher. No, wait.” A nagging memory had me hesitating. “Their vests were different from yours. The back said…Saddletramps?”

  Zag’s expression became hard, his eyes going blank and his mouth tightening into a scary biker scowl. My heart stuttered in my chest. He really was one of them. I’d been kidding myself all along. I wrenched back and took a few steps. Away from Zag and his magnetic pull.

  “Like I said: drug dealers. So I’m done. With you and with this.” I waved my hand in his general direction.

  “Oh, we’re not done, princess. Not by a long shot.” Without waiting for my reply, Zag turned and walked back to his bike. A few seconds later, the air vibrated with his bike’s engine.

  And then he was gone.

  I stared at the end of the street, the last place I saw him before he turned the corner. How were we not done? I said we were over, so we were. He didn’t get a vote. Or a chance to change my mind. What the hell?

  “Okay, I get it now.”

  “What?” I turned around and found Nicole standing behind me, also looking down the street where Zag disappeared.

  “The biker thing. He’s hot.”

  Where was my judgmental friend from a few weeks ago? “But his club deals drugs, Nic. Remember?”

  “Yes. Right. I’m not saying I think you should see him again. I’m just saying that I get it.”

  I shook my head and walked back toward the house. “What did you think he was like?”

  “You know, one of those three-hundred-pound guys with the do-rag and long goatee. Or an old guy with the handlebar mustache.”

  “Thanks, Nic. It’s nice to know you have faith in me.”

  Nicole followed me into the house and closed the door behind her. “I do, Jess. I know you’ll do the right thing. If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that.”

  I sagged onto the couch. “What am I going to do?”

  Nicole slid the deadbolt home with a click, then joined me on the couch. “Like I said. The right thing.”

  I groaned. “Why does the right thing have to suck so much?”

  “That’s the pain of being a grown-up. Or so my mom tells me.”

  I grabbed my purse from the ground and dug through it for my cellphone. I knew what I had to do. Didn’t make it any easier, though.

  “You gonna be okay?”

  I looked up from my cellphone screen. Nicole stared back at me, her head tilted and her eyes full of sympathy.

  I sighed. “I guess. As long as he stays away. I have little to no willpower apparently when it comes to that man.”

  “You know, he didn’t strike me as a bad sort per se.”

  “Nic, really? Bikers? Drugs? What exactly made you think he’s an okay guy?”

  “Well, you didn’t get his side of the story. You kinda accused, then ran away. He didn’t look guilty to me.”

  “That’s part of his charm. The enigma thing where you can’t tell what he’s thinking or feeling. And he didn’t exactly deny the charge, anyway.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “No. Drugs are a deal-breaker. I’m done.” My fingers flew across the screen as I dialed my work extension. After a few rings, Seleste picked up. “Hey, Seleste. Can you do me a favor and get Jerry? Yeah, I’ll hold.”

  Nicole stood up. “All I’m saying is I don’t think you’ve seen the last of him. He didn’t strike me as the quitting type.”

  “Doesn’t matter—I am. Yes, I’m here, Jerry. I have to report something I saw in the parking garage…”

  Chapter 9

  Zag

  JUNE 20

  Zag left his bike one block over from the Mother Lode parking garage and walked over. But he knew what he’d find before he even got onto the right level. The squawk of police radios told the story for him. Cursing under his breath at Preacher’s stupidity, he stopped his ascent of the stairs one floor below and debated his options.

  He didn’t need to be spotted by one of the pigs and scooped up as an accomplice to whatever the fuck Preacher had got himself into. But he needed to see for himself. Fuck it. Continuing up the stairs as quietly as possible, he crept to the edge of the stairwell and peered around the corner.

  Two squad cars with the lights flashing pinned three bikes in their parking spots. Preacher sat in the back of one of the squad cars while the cops were patting down the other two guys. But once they turned around, Preacher’s betrayal shone like a neon light. There was no mistaking the Saddletramp logo in the blinking red and blue light. Goddammit! Or the white powder in plastic bags next to the bundles of cash on the hood.

  Shaking his head, Zag quietly walked back down the steps. Only when he was clear of the stairwell did he take out his cellphone from his jacket pocket to make a call.

  “Reb, we’ve got a problem.”

  —

  A few hours later, Zag waited with his back up against the wall outside of the True Brothers’ clubhouse. Deep in the industrial district of Reno, the clubhouse had been the go-to place for Zag all of his adult life. Between the meeting room, bar, and bedrooms, he’d racked up more hours here than any other place, ever. It was home. Plus the location made it the perfect area for impromptu bike shows and burnouts. Their neighbors couldn’t give a flying fuck, since the bikers usually didn’t have meetings during “business hours.”

  Unlike today. Today’s emergency meeting hadn’t given most of the members much notice. Like his buddy Bumper. He’d been trying for hours to get Bumper on the phone to warn him about what was about to go down, but Bump hadn’t answered. He only hoped Bumper got the text about the unscheduled meeting and showed up tonight.

  This shit was gonna suck hard.

  Zag jerked his head in greeting as a few members filed past him and into the building. He could only wait a few more minutes before he had to get inside. He couldn’t stand out here forever. As a board member, he had to be at every meeting.

  But apparently he’d waited just long enough.

  The telltale roar of Bumper’s motorcycle approached. Bumper pulled through the open barbed wire gate into the lot and reversed into a spot. Of course, being Bump, he didn’t stop until he bounced his rear tire off the curb.

  Zag just shook his head.

  Finally, Bump killed the engine and jumped off his bike. He crashed into Zag and tried to cover his lack of grace with a one-armed hug.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?” Zag took a step back from his friend. If Bump was going to trip over his own feet—again—Zag didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire.

  “You tell me, you’re the board member. Why’d Reb call a meeting? We already had one this month.”

  Zag jerked his head to the side, then walked to the edge of the parking lot farthest from the front door and waited for Bump to catch up. “Yeah, well, things have gone kinda tits-up.”

  “No shit? Who’s the fuckup this time?”

  “Preacher.”

  Zag didn’t really need to say anything else. Although Preach had been a long-serving me
mber of the club—hell, he was one of the few recruits who’d been in the trenches with their president, Rebel, back in the day—things hadn’t been going well for Preacher for a while. This would make his second felony arrest.

  “Fuck!” Bumper kicked his boot at a fence post, leaving a black smear behind.

  Zag jerked his chin in a nod. He’d known the news wouldn’t be welcome for most of the members. Preacher had been an unofficial older brother for most of the guys—the one they’d gone to for advice on women and True Brothers. But he knew the news would hit Bumper especially hard. Preacher—back when he wasn’t all fucked up from drugs—had been Bumper’s sponsor, the one who convinced him to join the club. For the longest time they’d been closer than most True Brothers in the club. Until recently. But then Preacher hadn’t been exactly close to anyone for the past year or so.

  “Dammit.” Bump looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. “I was hoping you were gonna say someone—anyone—else. What did he do?”

  “He was arrested. Selling drugs. To Saddletramps.”

  “What? No way in hell. He wouldn’t be caught within ten feet of a Saddletramp unless he was kicking their asses.”

  “He was with them. Selling to them. It’s bad, man. I’m sorry.”

  Bump shook his head like he wasn’t believing what he was hearing. “So are we bailing him out?”

  “No, we’re meeting tonight to vote on his membership.”

  “That’s bullshit. What happened to the brotherhood? He gets scooped up, we bail him out. That’s what we do. I thought that’s why we pay dues every fucking month. How did it go from brothers to kicking him out?”

  “Not everyone agrees.” Zag took a breath and debated whether to tell Bump about the talk some of the board members had last week. Technically, it was board info only, but he had to make Bump understand. “There was some discussion after the meeting last week. Some of the guys don’t think Preacher is True Brother material anymore. And given the details of his latest arrest—”

  “That’s a bunch of bullshit,” Bump cut in. “Preacher is a Brother—he’s family. You don’t vote on family. What the hell are you guys thinking?”